


New Traditions

by iamanidhwal



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, ineffable boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-12-01 23:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamanidhwal/pseuds/iamanidhwal
Summary: After the Armaggedon-That-Wasn't, everything seemed to fall into normalcy.Or so Aziraphale thought.[based on a comic by roman_kvn]





	New Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a comic by @roman_kvn on Twitter! 
> 
> Link: https://twitter.com/roman_kvn/status/1150582843904409600
> 
> Please follow her to see more of her work! <3

* * *

After the Armaggedon-That-Wasn't, everything seemed to fall back into normalcy.

Or so Aziraphale thought. Life went on as usual. The sun rose from the east and set in the west, Londoners would still swear and curse and get stuck in roundabouts and usual traffic, A.Z. Fell & Co. still opened and closed at odd hours and days, his Miracles still worked. He rose from his slumber well into the mornings, snapped cocoa into his mug, met Crowley in St. James Park in the afternoon and dined out some evenings.

Crowley, however, was skeptical. They had, of course, slept for at least a week out of sheer exhaustion, the kind that just piled up one on top of another for the past eleven years. And for the first few days that they had been awake, the demon would usually whip his head around as if to look for any lingering stares, or craning necks, any eavesdroppers that were lingering nearby for a second too long. Even behind his dark sunglasses, the angel knew Crowley's serpentine eyes were squinting, trying to find any anomaly, a single mistake in the reality that they were currently living in.

"Crowley, my dear, you have to stop," Aziraphale mentioned one evening, as they stayed indoors in the shop. Lit only by a modest chandelier hanging in the center of the circular room, Crowley was drinking a very expensive bottle of port that he had bought from the liquor shop on the way to visit him. The angel himself had had a glass but was content on just one. Crowley very nearly finished it off. 

"_M-can't,_" he hissed, lounging on one of his sofas. His glasses had been knocked to the ground, and he hadn't bothered to pick it up again despite the very real, very likely chance of him stepping on them. "_How could you?_"

"How could I what?"

"Not care about_ anything!"_ Crowley whined, his head lolling to the side to look at Aziraphale, who sat on his favorite chaise, a worn, tartan blanket draped over his lap with a book open. "We just stopped Armageddon! We met the Four Horsemen! We met _the Antichrist!"_

"We met Anathema, too. And that Newton boy," Aziraphale hummed. "And Lance Corporal Shadwell, Madame Tracy --"

"No, I -- _they're irrelevant,_" the demon groaned, rolling his eyes. "And we very nearly _died!_"

"Oh, yes. If it hadn't been for dear Agnes Nutter, we'd have ceased to exist."

"_Wh-yeah-that's what I'm saying!" _He huffed. "Don't you feel it's... _funny? _How we've been looking over our shoulders for the past eleven years, had to tiptoe around like we were going to set off some celestial land mines, and everyone else just acts as if nothing happened?"

"Well, my dear, to them, nothing _did _happen. That's kind of the whole point."

"But aren't you just a little bit miffed about it all?" Crowley's arms shot up in the air, gesturing vaguely as if he was trying to magic into existence a slinky. "No one noticed that, _hey, _something was going on in Tadfield the other day? Or _hey, _what was that thing about the M25 being closed off because of a literal _ring of fire? _Was everyone just _okay _knowing that Atlantis is now on the map somehow and that the Kraken is real and still alive?"

"Best not to speculate."

"_Bah,_" Crowley harrumphed, dismissing him. "You and that _belief _of yours."

"If this is what happened," Aziraphale countered. "And we are still alive _despite _doing everything we possibly could to go _against _the Divine Plan, then that means we're fine. I find it best not to question things that are in my favor."

The demon on his couch snorted. "You really think that we went against the Plan? Picture this, angel -- if we really _did _go against the Plan, God would have intervened. That's what you lot would have believed. She'd get in the middle of things, let the Apocalypse happen in the end, let angels and demons battle it out until one of our sides won over the other. The very _fact _that we're still doing what we have for the past six thousand years means that what we've done? All this sneaking around? _Was _God's plan."

Aziraphale didn't have a reply to that. Crowley swung his legs over the edge of the couch, mumbling about using the loo. The angel ignored the telltale crunch and the disappointed groan from Crowley as his glasses met their demise under his sole.

* * *

It took a few more weeks for everything to settle down. After a few days after he had drunk himself to sleep, Crowley’s shoulders eased ever so slightly, and day by day he was warming up again to humanity, just as he had before the literal end of the world happened just a few weeks prior. But his head still swiveled around sometimes, wondering if something or someone would suddenly snap up the other person in their dynamic, like how they were abducted in Saint James Park.

It was well over a month after the event, and the angel was starting to get annoyed. Growing quite tired of this paranoia, Aziraphale sighed and decided to take matters into his own hands. It was time to enforce normalcy, and they had done everything as they usually did, except for one thing. “Why don’t we go to the Ritz tonight, hm?”

“Wha?” Crowley chirped, looking over the copy of _Junky _he was holding up. He was leaning back, one leg draped over the backrest of the couch, and the other stretched out in front of him. Aziraphale could see the demon enjoyed Burroughs’ book, seeing as he was already half-way through.

“The Ritz, my dear. We haven’t been there in ages.”

“S’pose you’re right,” Crowley said, dog-earing the page he was on and setting the book down, not noticing the way Aziraphale cringed at the lack of bookmarks available. “But I actually have a little demonic errand to run around a week after.”

The Angel raised his eyebrow. “Oh?”

“No, nothing of the sort you’re thinking about.” Crowley hummed, sitting up and tilting his head at him innocently. “No _holy interventions _needed. Just a little something to say ‘fuck you’ to the people Downstairs.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know Hell. Right bastards, the lot of them.”

“I’ve been there, it’s awful. But I will have to admit, they’re quite fair when they gave Me-As-You a trial, albeit biased.”

“After our little stunt, I’m just going to rub it in their faces.” Crowley was grinning now, lips pulled back to bare his teeth in a mischievous way. “Can’t really touch me, can they?”

“What if they do?”

“What if they don’t?”

“Crowley,” he sighed, closing his book. “Do you really want to risk this?”

“Humor me, angel, I beg you,” He sighed weakly, rubbing his face with his hands. “I need to feel like nothing’s changed. Like I’m still a demon sent to Earth to ensure temptations, and that I still belong somewhere. I don’t like this weird limbo. I used to wish that they’d leave me alone, but getting nothing but radio silence is driving me mad.” He looked up at him then, serpentine yellow eyes a bit somber. “Do you still get those daily memos from Heaven?”

The angel grimaced a little, looking down at his hands folded on his lap. “No.”

“Right bastards up there, too.” He scoffed.

Aziraphale sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wanted to retort with something, he _really _did, wanted to snap at the demon. He didn’t let it show, but his frustrations with him, as well as the constant paranoia, had been rubbing off on him, and it set him on edge.

But no, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to start a fight, not after what happened in the bandstand. He could still see Crowley in his mind’s eye, begging for forgiveness for something that he wasn't really at fault with, how his face crumbled when Aziraphale stuck firm with his doomed plan. He didn’t want them to go through that again. “Alright, fine. As you wish.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, flopping back down against the velvet pillows. “Just wish everything was back to normal.”

The angel merely hummed and returned his attention to his book, but both of them knew that they felt the same about the whole situation.

* * *

The Ritz was still the same, of course – all-glass chandeliers twinkling at them from the ceiling up above, the morsels on their plates upholding the same quality as they always had. Their usual waiter, Francis, poured the champagne that Aziraphale preferred, and he also made sure that their table was spruced up with only the best and freshest flowers to appease Crowley and his expert senses.

All in all, it was routine. And yet…

“Something is off,” Crowley mumbled after one bite of his dark chocolate mousse cake.

Aziraphale looked up from his own plate of angel food cake, already halfway through his slice. “Oh, no, would you like to have it sent back?”

“No, no, not the cake,” he scoffed but put his fork down nonetheless. Then he looked him straight in the eye – or in this case, as directly into his eyes as he could, what with the whole ‘wearing sunglasses even while indoors’ business still going on. “I’m talking about us.”

“I’m sorry? What do you mean, my dear?”

Crowley heaved a sigh, his expression changing. “I-I don’t… I can’t find… the words… it just feels odd, knowing that you’ve basically experienced the same thing I have. Armageddon or not.”

Aziraphale fixed him a reproachful look. “Crowley, honestly, I’ve been with you for thousands of years. Do you still think that?”

“Of course,” Crowley mumbled, hand sneaking toward his flute of champagne. “A lot happened during those few days…”

He drank deeply until he had finished the whole glass, then waved for Francis to refill it. Aziraphale merely smiled at the waiter as thanks, waiting for him to move out of earshot, before asking, “Are you thinking of when I discorporated?”

Crowley visibly winced, and the angel instantly felt bad to elicit the reaction. “Oh, I’m sorry-“

“It’s alright, Aziraphale, no need for apologies,” the other man replied, still drinking from his flute. He swirled the liquid a little as if to buy time from expounding further, watching the little bubbles form and float to the surface. “It was just… a shock. I’ve been dreading for things to go pear-shaped, but I always thought it’d be on my end. We demons aren’t the forgiving lot, you know.”

“I’m sorry, nonetheless,” Aziraphale offered, leaning forward against the table. “For causing such distress.”

“Nah, don’t mention it,” Crowley said, waving off his apology. “I just… panicked. The argument… at the bandstand. My last words to you, about leaving for Alpha Centauri, and not thinking about you.” He shook his head dolefully. “I ran into the bookshop, and I _prayed. _Do you know that? I _prayed _to God that I wouldn’t find evidence of you dead by the hands of the Holy. And I’ve never regretted anything in my life as much as I did back then.”

Aziraphale felt short of breath at the implications of such, with Crowley. He bit his lip and tried processing everything that he said, but he only lasted for a few minutes before he asked something that he had been meaning to ask for a long, long while.

“Would… would you really have done it?” He said, almost in a whisper, but he knew Crowley would have heard it. “Would you have… left me behind, here on Earth? Go to Alpha Centauri alone?”

There wasn’t even a beat of pause, nor a moment of hesitation. Crowley just huffed out a laugh, then smiled sadly. “No, angel. Not even if you threatened me with vats of holy water.”

The angel smiled sweetly at him, trying to express the gratitude the swelled up in his chest as he heard those words. Instead, he just emitted a soft, little ‘oh’, and, without thinking, his hand had reached over the table to clasp Crowley’s in his own.

Crowley started at the sudden movement but didn’t inch away. In fact, all he did was to intertwine their fingers together. They didn’t say anything, but this… it felt warm, it felt safe, and it felt _right._

Neither of them pulled away until they had finished, and were, once again, racing to pay for the bill. 

* * *

After that specific night at the Ritz, things seem to be blooming right in front of Aziraphale’s eyes. London, with its usual bleary greys and browns and blacks, suddenly came to life. He could hear children skipping and laughing through the streets, lovely little elderly people stopping for a chat with a basket of bread or a handful of flowers. The ducks in St. James Park were livelier and jollier than usual.

And Crowley? Crowley had been in quite a charming and thoughtful mood. He’d visit him and the bookshop nearly every day, always with something to offer Aziraphale to greet the day – be it a fresh bouquet of flowers from his own personal garden, a bag of fresh pastries from the French patisserie nearby, or cups of hot chocolate from the café he passed. They would usually talk, but after a few days of this, they had just sunk into comfortable silence – Aziraphale reading books while Crowley busied himself with his phone or his laptop.

They would usually sit opposite each other, but Crowley tended to have bad posture hunched over his devices over some time. And while he could just as well miracle himself to have no physical ailments, Aziraphale still offered for him to lie down. The demon would always oblige, resting his head on the angel’s lap. Aziraphale’s fingers would usually find themselves massaging Crowley’s scalp, feeling the silky texture of his bright red hair, and they both wouldn’t realize until it had been well over hours since they’ve assumed position.

They never really spoke of it; just looked at each other, and smile fondly. And it felt as though everything was right in the world.

Aziraphale had a growing feeling in his stomach the more times they did that, and only on the most recent occasion, when Crowley had asked to sleep over at Aziraphale’s place (on the pretense of skipping traffic, since he had to run the little demonic errand he mentioned before the following day), did he finally realize that he was experiencing what those romance novels called ‘_butterflies in the stomach’_.

He didn’t really let on that he was feeling this until Crowley had excused himself upstairs to flop onto Aziraphale’s bed. Once finally alone in the bookshop, the angel promptly flipped the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED’, drew the blinds in the windows, then sat on his favorite couch to think in.

And he thought, for a long while. What was Crowley to him? Why was he feeling something akin to romance? He bit his lip, trying to think of a solution. Perhaps it was the fact that they experienced and helped stopped Armaggedon together? Maybe it was because Crowley had threatened to actually abandon him? Crowley, the only being in the world who’d put up with Aziraphale’s frivolousness and silly jokes and adventures, who’d humor him and entertain him?

Who’d drop anything to save him, from a murderous group of Frenchmen to double-crossing Nazi spies. Who’d make sure he was happy and fed and rested. Who’d give him gifts big and small, whether it was the rising popularity of _Hamlet _or just something so menial as cleaning the stain off his coat for him.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and imagined another universe wherein everything else was the same, only this time, Crowley actually left for Alpha Centauri. At once, he felt his stomach clench uncomfortably, and a sense of dread filled his chest. The angel felt his hands go clammy at the thought, at the premise of Crowley leaving him behind, their relationship in ruins.

They had come so close to the point of no return, toeing the line where they could still salvage their friendship. Aziraphale had almost nearly crossed that line, and if Crowley actually _had _fled, their parting words filled with scathing hatred of the other, well… even if the Armageddon didn’t happen, and that he had flown to Alpha Centauri to ask for forgiveness, he knew, deep down, that it would all be in vain. And he knew that even in desperation, Crowley would not have relented, just as Aziraphale had not acquiesced when Crowley had come back one last time to apologize right outside his bookshop.

He closed his eyes and silently sent a small prayer of thanks to God that that _wasn’t _what happened. “Lord, I dare not question your Plan,” he said out loud, with only the candlelight keeping him company in his dark bookshop. “But I sometimes wonder… did you see so far ahead? Did you see me and Crowley doing this, stopping Armageddon? And what happens afterward?”

He wasn’t expecting an answer, and God was predictably silent. He smiled to himself a little ruefully before plucking out a book from a nearby bookshelf. He snapped his fingers and the lamp on his desk turned on. Without further ado, he dove into the contents of the book, trying to purge the feelings of doubt and uncertainty that still lingered in his chest.

* * *

The morning after, Crowley sauntered downstairs, yawning and stretching his arms up over his head with a garbled mix of a ‘good morning’ and a ‘bloody hell is that bright’. Aziraphale, who had stayed up all night and had finally some semblance of zen after last night’s thoughts, looked up and greeted him with a small smile.

“Good morning.”

“Have you been up this whole time?”

“Yes,” he replied, showing him that he was very nearly done with a small pile of books. “This is the fourth one.”

Crowley leaned against the handrails of the stairs, chin on his hand. He looked absolutely smitten, and Aziraphale tried very hard not to blush. “Out of how many in a series?”

“Six.”

“Then you’ve got your whole morning planned, I take it.” The demon hummed and went to the kitchen, calling out his next words. “Cocoa or tea?”

“The former, thanks,” Aziraphale replied, smiling as he turned back to his book. A few minutes later, his white, winged mug was placed beside his arm over a tartan coaster, filled with thick hot chocolate. “Oh!”

“Don’t forget to relax sometimes, angel.” Crowley was grinning down at him, a plain, jet-black mug in his right hand. His glasses were on top of his head, and so Aziraphale could see his eyes, which were crinkled at the edges with happiness. From where he sat, he could even smell the strength of the coffee that the demon usually preferred.

Aziraphale smiled and tucked a bookmark into the pages of his book before closing it. “Then please, drink with me.”

“Way ahead of you.” Crowley settled down on a small pouf, crossing one long leg over the other in a flourish. “M’going out today.”

Aziraphale raised the mug to his lips and blew on the surface, the steam fogging up his glasses that were still stuck on his nose. “Oh?”

“Yeah, that little errand I told you about,” Crowley hummed, jiggling his foot as he sipped the black coffee that Aziraphale guessed was still boiling hot. “Won’t take long.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where you’ll be going?”

“Trade secrets, angel.” Crowley winked at him over the rim of his mug. “Can’t tell.”

Aziraphale expected this, yet pouted all the same. “Well… alright then.”

“Oh, don’t start,” the demon whined.

“Start what?”

“This, this little pity thing that you’re making,” he said, waving his hand to gesture vaguely at Aziraphale’s seated form. “Look, it’s none of your business.”

“Hmm.”

“Satan, I didn’t _mean – _“ Crowley groaned and threw his head back in frustration. “It’ll be very quick, just a couple of hours, and I’ll be back. Alright?”

Aziraphale remained unconvinced, his lips pursed. “And I take it this isn’t a mandate from any of the higher-ups? Beelzebub, Dagon?”

“No, no, but this is going to be a lovely little gift-wrapped present to them, regardless.” There was the tell-tale twinkle of mischief in his eyes, the small little crinkle that his eyes and nose did when the demon grinned wide enough. Aziraphale only saw it a few times every few decades, and when he did, he treasured it in his memory.

He didn’t have the heart to stop him, and so he just acquiesced with the smallest of sighs. “Alright, fine.”

“Don’t look so glum, angel. How about I bring something home, hm?” He leaned forward, ready to appease him as always. “What would you like?”

He sniffed a little, as though unconvinced, but already feeling warm at the idea of Crowley coming back with something for him. “Hmm… perhaps a spot of lunch?”

“Done and done.” Crowley grinned. “Japanese? Sushi rolls, a serving of those breaded pork chops that I like – what do they call them?”

“Tonkatsu,” Aziraphale said, nodding. “Yes, that would do nicely.”

“Great, then it’s settled.” The demon said, happy to be of service. He sipped his coffee once more, already half-way through his mug. “Still got some left. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been reading?”

That was all it took for Aziraphale to launch into an unending spiel about the book series he was currently invested in. His face and hands became more animated, and he quickly put down the mug of cocoa just to be able to emphasize the more important parts of the plot that he was explaining. Crowley, already used to this display of eager sharing, merely hummed, nodded, actively listening to what the angel had to say. He asked a few clarifying questions here and there, made soft gasps when he went over a particularly satisfying plot twist.

Aziraphale appreciated it, he really did, because he knew that Crowley was doing more than just humoring him to pass the time. He actually was interested, and would even add in a few of his thoughts and sentiments that they could debate on.

Before they even knew it, it was already ten in the morning. Crowley’s phone rang shrilly with an alarm that was the chorus of one of the Queen songs Crowley seemed to like so much. The demon hastily offered an apology for disturbing Aziraphale’s soliloquy, and he fished out his sleek, black phone from his pocket.

Aziraphale’s smile fell a little, and he slumped against his chair. “Must you really go, my dear?”

“Just for a few,” he mumbled, glancing up at him with an expression like a puppy dog. Aziraphale immediately felt soft. “Please?”

He relented with a very soft sigh. “Alright.”

“Thank you,” he said, turning back to his phone to type rapidly with his two thumbs on the screen. Aziraphale shook off the feeling of being abandoned – because really, Crowley wasn’t going to abandon him, he had said as much; he was a Demon, sure, but he wasn’t the type to lie, not to Aziraphale, anyway – and turned back to his desk, reopening the book that he had abandoned for a few hours. It wasn’t hard for him to pick up where he left off, and soon enough he was already enthralled once again with the literature.

“Right, I'm off." He felt Crowley lean over his shoulder absently, still processing the text message he got and tapping out a reply with one hand. His other free hand was warm against Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Aziraphale, still engrossed in the book and the compelling scene he was currently in, peeled his eyes away from the pages long enough to send Crowley off with a quick peck on the lips. "Don't take too long, then, my dear.”

"I'll be back by lunch, as promised," Crowley mumbled, kissing back. Then he raised his hand in goodbye and stalked out to his Bentley parked right outside the bookshop.

* * *

Only exactly forty-eight minutes later, with Aziraphale taking pause to drink his cocoa and with Crowley stuck in usual London traffic, did the both of them realize that they had kissed each other for the first time in six thousand years.

Aziraphale had finally finished his book and contemplated the ending over a reheated mug of cocoa. He was feeling quite peckish already but decided against eating anything as he waited for Crowley to come back.

“How long has it been?” he asked himself, checking the grandfather clock sequestered in the corner. The hands of the clock were nearing eleven in the morning, and he shrugged to himself. “Crowley will be back soon, I suppose.” He had said so, right after Aziraphale had sent him off with a --

He sputtered cocoa all over his front and very narrowly missing the books on his desk. Beating against his chest to clear his airways, he steadied himself with holding onto the armrests of his chair.

All at once, there was a ringing in his ears, and a tingling sensation on his lips. He hadn’t done it on purpose, had acted purely with his subconscious. But he remembered, vaguely, that Crowley had reciprocated. Did he enjoy it? Did he even expect it? He didn’t even react as though it was out of the ordinary, just exited the bookshop.

Aziraphale swore to himself, in a language long dead, burying his head in his hands. What was he to do now? Was it the wrong thing to do? Should he apologize? Did Crowley even want to be reminded of it? The demon was the type to just gloss over things like thanks and apologies because it was too mushy and polite for him to respond to. Why had he _done _it in the very first place?

The queasy feeling of butterflies in his stomach merely intensified. His heart pounded against his ribcage, the beating echoing in his ears and skull. He had shortness of breath, and his cheeks felt warm to the touch.

In his mind’s eye, he could picture him leaning forward, kissing Crowley’s lips once more, cupping his face in his hands. He wanted to taste him, to savor him, to make him open up to him as he had never had before. He wanted Crowley all to himself, and for the demon to want him just the same; to spend the rest of eternity with him, in their own little private corner of the Earth, surrounded with books and plants and any other Earthly, human delight.

There was no use in denying it: _He loved him._

The intensity of the sudden realization nearly overwhelmed the angel completely. He felt as though a sack of potatoes had come crashing down his head, followed by a bucket of ice-cold water. There it was, the ever-elusive explanation that he had been looking for all along.

“I love him,” Aziraphale whispered, as though testing it out. It felt real enough, and his insides seemed to agree.

“I love him. I love Anthony J. Crowley,” he tried out once more, his voice growing louder until he could hear his voice bouncing from the walls of his shop. “I, Aziraphale, am in love with Crowley!”

He leaned forward from his chair, adrenaline rushing through his veins making him stand up and start pacing. He loved him. He _loved _him! Not in the way that angels loved everything, not in the way that God loved everything She ever made. No, this was the kind of love that made his heart soar in his chest, that made him feel warm and safe and protected.

He paused in his pacing back and forth when a voice in his head, which sounded very much like Gabriel’s voice, asked something to his inner consciousness: _But does he love you, in the same way you do him?_

He gulped audibly, hands wringing together in nervousness. Did he? Did Crowley even love him back? He couldn’t know, not for sure unless he asked the demon himself; and he was currently off doing God knows what in God knows where. Aziraphale wasn’t even the confrontational type, and Crowley closed off as soon as he felt that the conversation was taking a turn too personal for comfort.

“Oh, bugger,” Aziraphale mumbled to himself, worrying his lip between his teeth. Crowley could very well not reciprocate his feelings, the demon had every right not to. In that case, Aziraphale would lament his feelings, but he wouldn’t want to force him into anything, and he wouldn’t want to drive Crowley away. He had pushed him away before, and Crowley thankfully hadn’t left him. But now, there was a very real possibility that Crowley would straight-up abandonhim, and Aziraphale didn’t know how to take it if that were to ever happen.

Just as he was starting to hyperventilate, the front door to his shop suddenly opened, the bell chimes overhead ringing. Aziraphale turned to see Crowley, doubled over and panting as though he had just run a marathon.

“C-Crowley?”

“I… _hah… _I didn’t go… t-through with it,” Crowley said in-between big gulps of air. He shook his head as he tried to catch up with his erratic heart rate. “G-Give me a minute..._Fuck, _these were heavy, what are these… even… made of?”

And it was only then that Aziraphale had noticed what he was carrying. Crowley had a giant bouquet of rosebuds of different colors, with a smattering of small, dainty lily-of-the-valley flowers in one hand, and a heart-shaped box of pralines in the other. A quick glance outside confirmed that Crowley _had _run from only God knows where, because the Bentley was absent from its usual parking spot at the curb.

Crowley handed the flowers and chocolates over, wheezing. “Here, I… I got them… after…” He bit his tongue and a deep blush spread over his cheeks. The demon just settled for mouthing wordlessly.

Aziraphale was too mute with shock, only noticing the details. The bouquet and the box were squished from where he had held onto them tightly, perhaps while running. “C-Crowley, I…”

And here, Crowley paused. His hands shook and his arms lowered. There was an expression of confusion and uncertainty on his face now. “Oh… I…”

“Hm?”

He straightened up and pushed his sunglasses, which had fallen down his nose in his hurry, up to the bridge again. He turned away and scuffed his shoes against the worn carpet. “W-Was I too fast, again?”

Aziraphale started. “What?”

“N-Nothing,” he stammered out, trying to hide the box of chocolates and the bouquet of flowers behind him. “Ha, it was nothing. I’m just... you know, idiot-brained, me. I, uh, I should go, well, uh…”

Aziraphale didn’t remember stepping forward. He didn’t remember tuning Crowley’s self-defense mechanism of rambling out from his ears. He didn’t remember pulling the demon down to face him by the lapels of his tight suit jacket.

But he _did _remember him all but crashing his lips against the demon’s cold and chapped pair.

There was only a moment of hesitation before Crowley kissed back, tilting their heads in a way that was more comfortable. The kiss was sweet, and innocent, and indulgent, and promising. Everything that they couldn’t communicate properly to each other – all the “_I’m sorry”_s, and “_Thank you”_s, and _“I won’t leave you”s, _and _“I’ll stay by your side through whatever_”s – they tried to express it into this one, singular, climatic action.

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally broke away, sharing a huff of laughter in between their lips. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, who had a half-smile on his lips, and felt inexplicably warm and happy.

“I love you, Anthony J. Crowley,” he said outright, not making any space for doubt or misinterpretation.

Crowley leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s, his half-smile growing into a bigger one that Aziraphale easily matched. “I love you too, Heaven and Hell be damned.”

“_Crowley!”_

“Shush, don’t ruin the moment,” Crowley admonished lightly. His finger tilted Aziraphale’s chin up for another sweet kiss, and the angel complied with a half-hearted sigh and an eye-roll.

After the Armaggedon-That-Wasn't, everything seemed to fall back into normalcy. Well, almost.

There was one specific thing that had changed with the dynamic between Aziraphale and Crowley, but both of them agreed that it had changed for the better.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave comments and kudos for two idiots in love <3


End file.
